Up early seeking small victories, as I try to fix my Wi-Fi.
One error message says, check your DNS. Below that it says, “If you don’t know what DNS is, check with your organization.”
I’m not sure which organization. So I checked with the Auto Club, then the American Heart Association. I also have calls in to the NFL and the CIA.
Then Windows runs some diagnostics, which confirms that my Wi-Fi is indeed down. Thank you, Windows!
Another error message says: Error Code: RESULT_CODE_HUNG.
Tell me, do these tech guys ever leave their mothers’ basements?
More and more, those with the worst people-skills are deciding how we communicate, solve problems, interact, meet.
Lord, let us pray.
No worries. I’m just looking for small victories, not Super Bowls. The Wi-Fi seems down a while, and I know it will somehow – through some fusion of technology and mysticism that no one can ever comprehend – eventually bounce back.
In the meantime, I still have no small victory to speak of. So I take the New Girl’s dog out. A micro dog really. Such a face too, one of those cupcake/fox/terrier mixes that are so popular on the west side of Los Angeles.
There are life wisdoms we realize but don’t often articulate. For one: “The most-beautiful women have the smallest dogs.”
His name is Stuart Little, and he is minus many of the molecules that make up what we usually think of as a dog. He trembles when he sees me, not out of fear, more out of envy, jealousy and lust. He loves me… he loves me not.
As in days gone by, he’s a total he, there is no ambiguity. Yet I’ve noticed that Stuart squats when he pees. My goal today – my small victory – will be to teach him to lift his leg a little, the way White Fang does.
White Fang lifts her leg when she pees, sometimes bracing it against the wall, like a cowboy drunk. For a Russian wolf, she has a lot of bad cowpoke habits.
I’ve raised White Fang, a she, as you would a he. I also raised my daughters as boys, my sons as boys. The only person I didn’t raise as a boy was Posh, though I could’ve. She was so young when we met, essentially a kid. Posh was 19; I was 21. As it turned out, that was maybe too much of an age difference.
By the way, Posh and I would’ve celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary on Sunday. That’s a long time to be mostly married. Spiritually, she was very feral, yet loyal, devoted and amazing.
You know, they say millennials aren’t marrying — or buying breakfast cereal or fabric softener. Or having kids. Basically, millennials are putting America out of business.
I admire them so much — these pasty kids with their weird ideas on Maxism and oat milk. They drink boba all day and write gibberish such as RESULT_CODE_HUNG.
Neither of my millennial daughters would do that, I think I know them that well. Though I raised them both as men, one is engaged to a man now and one has been married to the same man twice already – once in a typically girly wedding during Covid, and again in a typically girly wedding late last fall.
My amazing daughters now live — in this bewildering world of voodoo and deceit – as tributes to their no-nonsense mother, whose only real passion was her children.
The lovely and patient older daughter is already a world-class mother, and I think Rapunzel, a tremendous and doting auntie, will be a world-class mama too.
That would’ve made Posh so proud. She really was their biggest influence, though she never coached them in sports or taught them how to drive (we couldn’t subject her to that kind of risk; too important.)
Posh was their biggest influence because she taught them how to win a series of tiny victories — one here, one there. The right birthday gift, a timely phone call, a snuggle on the couch. If you string together enough of those, you wind up with a Super Bowl life.
Today, Posh’s ethos glows in her daughters’ beaming smiles, how they change a diaper, the way they stir the soup.
Moms. Does anyone ever love us more?
Props to all those who took part in Saturday’s toasty hike, and thanks to the bar at Dish for being so welcoming to a funky-sweaty bunch of studs like us. Next up: a Memorial weekend Gin & Tonic Society bash. Stay tuned for details. Cheers!
Another taste of perfection through your magical way with words. Micro dogs, little victories, seeing the best of Posh living on in your children (and grandchildren.) Those victories aren’t so small after all. I am delighted to get to witness your next life chapters unfolding with so much love, laughter and joy. You so deserve it, Chris. Thank you for sharing it all with us.
Carol, you said it so well. My sentiments exactly. Love to you always, Chris. ❤️
Chris, this was absolutely beautiful and touching and funny. I laughed. I cried. I laughed more. (RESULT_CODE_HUNG_ is clearly a language we don’t speak. No Google translate for it.) Posh’s life lessons live on through her children and grandchildren. That’s the real Lombardi trophy. Oh that pic of Posh holding your lovely and patient older daughter needs to be framed alongside of her and Catty Cakes. And the answer to your question is no. No one loves us more than moms. Now I’m going to call my 90 year old mom (Dolores) up and have a lovely chat ❤️
Hey ! Get a Mac ! Then stop by best buy and get a modem made in the last 10 years .
My college kids got everything ! Get smartacus to get yours !
Small dogs ? Never
How deeply loving is this piece. You probably should come from this position to be able to be male and see a dog in some of these little breeds. Women have no such trouble—a real gender difference. It only takes nine generations to create a new breed. The AKC must be going crazy registering them. Soon, it will take weeks to hold the Westminster dog show, and it will be held out on the Great Plains. As for the leg lifting issue, I have seen some dogs do both the squat and the lift(!). Maybe they’re just moving with the times, adopting the androgenous sensibilities society and/or the media seem so intent on imparting to all of us. Dogs are like that, the very finest of adapters.
Otta the park! Touch ‘em all!
Win one for the team…all the guys…Posh, Lovely & Faithful, Rapunzel, Smartacus & the Captain…. Catty Cakes!!!!!
Life is made up of small pleasures. Happiness is made up of those tiny successes. The big ones come too infrequently. And if you don’t collect all these tiny successes, the big ones don’t really mean anything.
– Norman Lear
My little girl fur🐶 baby lifts her leg to pee, even if she squats too.
What a very dear tribute to Posh. Wish I had known her.
Anniversaries become bitter sweet, but remember the sweet.
🥰🐶🍪
Chris – FYI, male dogs will lift their legs upon maturing and going through doggie puberty. It’s governed by hormones.
Posh’s beauty glows through your lovely daughters and granddaughter. Happy (spiritual) Anniversary!
My husband and I just celebrated our 40th, too.
Your comments about Posh are, to me, the most unromantic , yet loving tributes , I’ve ever heard , from a husband to wife. She does live on in her daughters and it’s a blessing that they dote on their Dad.
Indeed, Posh taught them well.
Is it just me or does Catty Cakes resemble her grandmother?
Make room on the bandwagon for me. I too love this one, and agree that I see Posh more and more in your girls, and see a wonderful combination of her and you in Spartacus. Forwarding this to Susan, who wisely stays as far away from Facebook as Dr. Fauci could wish. I’ll give her an extra smooch today, too, and say an unexpected, out of the blue “I love you.” She’ll probably roll her eyes at me, the way I sometimes saw Posh roll her eyes at you, but there’ll be a twinkle in the rolling eyes, same as I saw in Posh’s.